


The Fifteen-Dollar Obstacle Mover

by LauraDoloresIssum



Category: Deadlands (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Country & Western, Cowboys & Cowgirls, Gen, Night Vale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 11:17:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9817799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauraDoloresIssum/pseuds/LauraDoloresIssum
Summary: In a small town in the Weird West, a mysterious traveler with a rifle and fingers like a watchmaker's takes a simple job. When it comes to payment though, he's a mite queer.





	

It was late at night and the desert was crawlin’ with scorpions. I’d been in the saloon for a while, and I had already been imbibin’ plenty, so when the hand fell on my shoulder I weren’t in no mood for trouble. I turned around, ready to lift my fist and plant it in the other feller’s face. It was a short man, dark, set o’ cards stickin’ out of his ill-fittin’ suit. He only said, “I hear tell you got an obstacle what just won’t shift.”

My eyes narrowed instantly. My right hand, never too far from my gun, twitched a little. Who was this damn cowpoke? My left grabbed the bottle and I sipped it, tryin’ for my unflappable poker look. “You might be right, stranger. Then again, you might not be.”

“Be coy if you have a hankerin’ for it,” said the suit and the cards, “I don’t have much care either way. But if you need a man to move it, one’s open for sale.” He tilted his head across the crowded room. Peering across the haze of smoke and chatty saloon girls, I saw a man sittin’ alone in the corner, a dark rifle leanin’ next to him, his wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his eyes. He didn’t look like all that.

“Bit of a queer feller,” the suit said. “Don’t believe in mountains. But he’s got a gun hand steady as the sunrise.”

And with that, he sidled away.              

I weren’t so impressed by that. I lived by my nerves and my itchy trigger finger, and men who stayed too still tended to put me on edge. But admit it or not, I knew I had a problem I couldn’t fix myself — never you mind what it was, it just involved some card player who owed me a bit more than I liked. I mulled over my booze a little, cogitatin’ on my chances. I had been tryin’ to get my rightful out of that little snake for weeks, and I didn’t expect I’d have much more success in the days to come. Maybe bringing in some outside help would tilt the scales o’ justice my way.

I pulled out a coin and spun it on the table, tryin’ to feel out my luck tonight. I didn’t wanna use it all up too fast. The half-dollar swung in a slick, smooth spin, and came up heads without any hesitation. Felt like a nice deep pot of good fortune to me. So I got up and went over the feller in the corner all quiet-like.

He didn’t move as I slid into the chair opposite, like he’d been expectin’ me. He was a tallish man, and maybe a bit of a pretty-boy, but other than that there weren’t much that made him stand out. His hat was a round reddish-brown affair, sitting atop short black hair. Below it, a pair of mighty blue eyes gazed steadily into his drink as though tryin’ to divine secrets from it. Lookin’ at those eyes, I got a shiver. It weren’t my first run around the West, I’d seen plenty o’ men grow holes and spout red, and worse; but this feller looked like he got an eyeful real close and personal-like. Regular.

“Can I buy a feller a drink?” I asked him, real friendly, tryin’ to be companionable. The hat brim raised and those blue eyes fixed me into my chair. Now, I weren’t scared, mind. I’d seen plenty meaner things than this purty feller and his purty hat. His look was just mighty intense — it gave me a sudden desire to hand over my valuables. I wondered if he moonlighted holdin’ up coaches.

“No, thanks,” said the man. “I don’t mix relaxing and business, and somethin’ tells me you’re here for business.” He had the voice for it too, the kind you used to tell folks to put their hands up reeal slow and nobody gonna get hurt.

I tore my gaze away and glanced over at his gun in distaste. I got no hard feelin’s for rifle-carryin’ men… well, no, that ain’t true. I got a little hard feelin’ for ‘em. In my experience, any man more willin’ to kill from a distance got a bit of yeller in him, a bit of crazy, or both.

“You somethin’ rightly,” I muttered. “I got a problem needs sortin’. You the man to do it?”

He shrugged. “Depends. What’d they do?”

Well now, that were a bit personal. “What’s that to you?” I said, still keeping my voice friendly-like.

“It’ll tell me what manner of sortin’ you need.”

I leaned forward a little. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t like what he was implyin’. “I don’t mind sayin’, I ain’t the sort of man who usually goes to another to solve my problems. Or tell me my business.”

His gaze was calm and steady. “Easy up there, friend, I meant no offense. I got some limits on the work I take is all, and you’d be amazed the sorts of things folk ask me for. I ain’t gonna be putting a bullet in an innocent whore you’ve knocked up.”

I scoffed. “If I had woman troubles, I wouldn’t be comin’ to the likes of you. It’s some lowlife carder ain’t payin’ what he owes. Nothin’ heavier than that. He goes by—”

“No name,” the man interrupted, a trifle sharply. Had I seen a flash of somethin’ in his eyes? “I ain’t got time nor likin’. Just gimme a description and a reliable hideout, and tell me what you’re willing to pay for.”

He raised his left hand and drained the last of his booze, and I caught a glance at his fingers. Long thin fingers, they was, dark around the knuckles like they was permanently bruised. They had that sleek look that told me they’d never been broken in his life. But I’ll give it to him, just from the way he held that cup I knew he was a good shot. That hand was the steadiest I ever seen, and still pretty spry for it.

“He’s not hard to spot, white man ‘bout so high, big shit-eatin’ grin, wears spurs when he don’t need to,” I said. “You usually find him around Slinky Joe’s, but he’s got a shack down on the road outta town. Keeps a red rag tied around the left corner so’s the other card-sharps know when he’s in.”

The glass thunked back on the table, and my shootin’ hand twitched again. “I don’t need a snuffin’ if it don’t warrant,” I cautioned. “That sorta thing stains a man’s reputation around here. Just talk at him, give him that stare o’ yours, rough him up if need be. Only get him to pay up twenty dollars worth in cash, preferably by the end of the week. You’ll get a fat twenty yourself for it.”

The long fingers drummed the table slowly. Tap… tap… tap. “Generous.”

I felt a proud little glow. “I got a couple bets lined up with Slinky Joe, and I’m anglin’ to get more than that off’n him before the end of the month. I’m one o’ the best gamblers in town.”

Tap… tap… tap. The blue eyes blinked. “I’ll take fifteen for the job now, and won’t ask for any more.”

I confess, that startled me. “What? You _loco_?”

Tap… tap… tap. “It’s simple math. I don’t know you from any cowpoke in the West, so I ponder you as havin’ a generous fifty-fifty chance to actually pay me – assumin’ your bet comes through at all. Split the difference, that’s ten dollars. A bit more than that, that’s fifteen. Things work out in your favor, I get a solid fifteen and be content, and you get your cash and save five whole dollars on the cap. Things don’t, I ain’t gonna get stiffed for my very own twenty and have to come after you instead.”

I scoffed, but I was already reachin’ for my pocket. I had been savin’ them up for weeks, plannin’ to lay them on the table that night, but I knew a fool when I laid eyes on one. “I’m a mite impressed by the distrust you have in your customers. Five dollars is a lot of money to a man without a steady roof over his head.”

He cracked a little bit of a smile as he stowed the fifteen inside his coat, eyeballin’ it as politely as he could to make sure none of it was forged. “I don’t have customers, friend. I have patrons. They tend to come and go but once.”

I shook my head. “Fella, you ain’t worth shit at gamblin’.”

“I ain’t a gamblin’ man, sir.” We rose and parted ways without another word.

On Thursday mornin’, I stepped out my front door with a cup of coffee and a sandwich, ready to eat and watch the sun rise, as I have a fondness for doing. I was still mostly asleep, and I near broke my neck trippin’ over a bundle on the doorstep. It was a heavy package wrapped in cowhide and paper that shifted when I handled it. Still partway addled, I cursed at it a bit and took it inside. I plopped it on the kitchen table and stared at it. Who did I know who sent packages? Mail-orders, maybe, but I thought they came with a fancy note or something proclaimin’ as loud as possible who they were from. Advertisin’ and all.

Well, it weren’t rattling or tickin’, so I figured it was safe to unwrap. I ripped a big chunk of paper off, and a few pennies oozed out and went rollin’ across the kitchen floor. I suddenly remembered about the money owed me. Sure enough, inside was a jumbled mess of coins that added up to twenty dollars worth of cash in hand. I can tell you, that made me pretty happy. I took some of it into town that night, and made Joe pass up my twenty-five, and promptly lost it and two dollars more over gin rummy, but you gotta stay philosophical about these things.

When I was next around that side of town, I was feeling charitable and decided to swing by that card player’s house, see how he was doin’. Maybe offer to put up some for a doctor’s visit. To my surprise, the door was hangin’ open, banging back and forth with the wind. I went up slowly, my hand on my gun. Who knew, could be a trap; after all, some men just don’t like it when you win fair and square, and come lookin’ for a little vengeance. But to my surprise, the place was cleaned out like a well-picked carcass. The furniture was lyin’ this way and that and little trinkets were scattered on the floor, like somebody had pulled up roots in a hurry.

I didn’t see hide nor hair of Ace from that day forth. I don’t know what happened to him, and I never did ask. All it meant to me was that that blue-eyed sumbitch did his job without leavin’ a body, and that’s worth fifteen dollars any day. Way I got it figured, he still lost somethin’ sore on that deal. Some folks just ain’t cut out for gamblin’, or gunslingin’, but I guess it takes all kinds out West.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Yes, "doesn't believe in mountains" was a hint that this character is from Deadlands Night Vale. Comments always welcome, boilerplate boilerplate.


End file.
